Trichotomy
by gleefulmusings
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester meet Kurt Hummel and instantly adore him. Kurt's Uncle Bobby isn't too thrilled with this. Psychic!Kurt, established Wincest relationship. See warnings for possible triggers and Notes for story explanation.
1. Three's A Charm

**Title**: _Trichotomy _  
><strong>Author<strong>: gleefulmusings  
><strong>Beta<strong>: mysterious_daze  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: _Glee_/_Supernatural_, post-Season One AU for both shows.  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Kurt/Sam/Dean  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T  
><strong>Warning(s)<strong>: Language; sexual situations; established Wincest; mentions of an attempted sexual assault.

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, lyrics, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Snippets of dialogue may be incorporated from the original canonical episode(s) and belong to their respective authors/creators. The original characters and plot are the property of the author(s). The author(s) is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, nor should any be inferred. No profit is being made.

**Summary**: The Winchester brothers meet Kurt Hummel and instantly adore him. Kurt's Uncle Bobby isn't too thrilled about this.

**Author's Note**: This is a side-story from my prompt series _Tickle My Fancy_, as requested by **clovrboy**, who wanted a meet and greet between Kurt and the Winchester brothers. I had planned something along these lines for a while, but it wasn't until I received the prompt that I actually began writing it. This will most likely be a three-shot and is meant to be light and fluffy, though there are some elements of drama. Also, this features psychic!Kurt from my _Glee/Medium_ crossover _Fragments_. The plot from that story has no bearing on this one, other than that Kurt is a medium and works for the office of the District Attorney.

Thanks, as always, to my personal Cheerios **Ash** and **Laynie**. I love you gorgeous wenches.

* * *

><p>Sam and Dean Winchester wearily hauled their exhausted carcasses up the dilapidated porch of Bobby Singer, ignoring their creaky bones and faintly trembling limbs, simply glad to have arrived. After chasing a particularly fucking annoying wendigo across four states, they had finally dispatched the nuisance three days prior and were looking forward to nothing but lounging around with Bobby, drinking an unhealthy amount of beer, and possibly tuning up the Impala.<p>

Dean curled his fingers into a slight fist and was just about to knock on the door when he cocked his head, listened more closely, frowned, and then dropped his arm. He turned to his brother. "Since when does Bobby listen to opera?"

Sam shrugged and quietly began singing along with the aria. In Italian.

Dean gave him a hard stare, shook his head, and finally sighed. As much as he loved his brother, he would never understand him, nor did he particularly want to.

The vocalist then hit a note of such crystalline purity that Sam all but swooned and Dean instantly got hard, which he didn't know was possible and therefore thought was totally awesome.

They both jumped back as the door was suddenly thrown open and a nervous Bobby smiled at them a little too winningly.

"Sam! Dean!" He chuckled nervously. "What are you boys doing here?"

Sam looked at Dean and did that accursed Eyebrow Thing, which totally pissed Dean off. As the older brother, the Eyebrow Thing was rightfully his. If he couldn't do it, then Sam shouldn't be able to either. So he settled for a sullen pout. Then he raised both brows until they were hovering somewhere around his hairline, trying to convey to Sam via the double raise that he was still in charge.

A slow smirk spread across Sam's face and Dean grimaced, knowing he had lost. Stupid Eyebrow Thing.

Sam turned back to face Bobby. "Um, you told us to come?"

Dean nodded like a puppy.

"Not until next week," Bobby replied, his tone slightly scolding.

Sam frowned at the rebuke and Dean was completely oblivious, either by choice or nature. Sam was never sure.

"Finished the last job a little early," Dean said, simultaneously shrugging and beaming, "so we thought we'd take a break and come hang with our best almost-relation."

A small, pleased smile appeared on Bobby's face. "Well, now, that's real nice, boys, and I'm happy to see you, but…"

The singing abruptly stopped though the accompaniment continued to pour out of the door, though it was silenced a few beats later.

Dean's eyes widened. "_Whoa_. A real person was singing that?" At once, he understood Bobby's reluctance to admit them and smirked. "Who's the chick, Bobby?"

The older man glared and scowled.

"Uncle Bobby?" called a small, uncertain voice.

Sam and Dean startled. They had never known Bobby had a niece. Dean immediately wondered as to her age and vital statistics. If she could sing like that, she must have had astonishing lung power. Cool.

"Be right there, sport," Bobby said, turning to call over his shoulder. "Why don't you fix us some lunch?"

"Acceptable," the voice shot back, "but if you think for a moment I'll be employing a recipe from your new Paula Deen cookbook, you're delusional. My pores can withstand only so much saturated fat, and I know the results of your latest cholesterol screening."

Bobby soured. "How'd you find out?" he whined.

Maniacal laughter was the only response.

Bobby sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Paula Deen?" repeated a bewildered Sam.

"_Sport?_" Dean demanded, now desperately trying to push his way inside. "Holy shit! That's a _dude?_"

Bobby curled a lip and shoved Dean back, almost sending the younger man flying over the porch railing and into the yard. "Kurt, I'll be back in just a minute."

"Okay!" Kurt tinkled. "Have fun playing with your flux capacitors!"

Sam was utterly charmed and let out a quiet chuckle.

Bobby stomped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him, and poked Dean hard in the chest. "Now you listen here, boy," he said, glowering. "That's my nephew in there and he's had a real rough time of it lately, so you're not going to say or do _anything_ that will make him uncomfortable. Got it?" He punctuated his point with several more chest pokes.

"What are you picking on me?" exclaimed an affronted Dean.

"Because I know you."

Sam had to concede the point. "What's going on, Bobby?"

The man ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. "Kurt is my brother Burt's boy."

Dean snickered. "Kurt and Burt? Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?"

Bobby gave him the side-eye and curled a fist. "I can tell you how to shut the fuck up."

Dean sobered and instantly complied.

"Burt is my half-brother," Bobby revealed, "though we've never been particularly close." He dropped his voice slightly. "Burt knows all about the hunting and he's informed Kurt so that he'll be aware, but hunting was never Burt's scene. And that's okay. He always wanted a family and he created a really nice one for himself. Any problems we had were pretty much healed after Kurt was born." His eyes turned distant and sad. "And then Suzanne died."

"Who?" Sam hesitantly asked.

Bobby blinked. "Kurt's mother."

Dean and Sam both flinched.

"Kurt was six," Bobby elaborated. "It was cancer. He sat by her beside day after day, month after month, and watched as she wasted away. Burt tried to shield him, but…" He sighed. "Kurt has his own way of dealing with things. In some ways, he's always been an adult, much more so than the adults who were supposed to look out for him. He doesn't linger in denial; he confronts things directly. Now, that doesn't mean that he deals with them; he's just aware of reality. He tends to bury his feelings so deeply that it sometimes comes across as though he's completely unemotional, which he's not."

Dean slowly nodded. He totally understood that. He wanted to meet this kid and give him a hug or some shit, but that was lame. Maybe he'd just take Kurt out to a titty bar. He blinked. Oh, the kid was probably actually a _kid_. Well, miniature golf then.

"He's called Tundra by his colleagues," Bobby said fondly. "Permafrost in beautiful wrapping."

Dean was impressed.

"Colleagues?" Sam asked.

Bobby's face turned very serious. "Kurt's psychic."

Sam flinched and Dean reached out to steady him.

"Not like you, Sam," Bobby continued. "Kurt's a medium. He can hear and speak to the dead. He's partnered with the top homicide cop in Dayton. They answer only to the District Attorney." He paused. "You boys hear about the Nightstalker?"

Sam's eyes widened and Dean nodded dumbly. How could anyone _not_ know about the psycho who had crisscrossed the Midwest, raping and butchering over twenty women? He had finally been caught last year, though the details were sketchy. He was, however, taken alive and immediately put on trial. He had claimed insanity, but the plea was rejected. He was currently awaiting sentencing and was expected to receive the death penalty.

"The collar was Kurt's doing," Bobby finished.

"_Fuck_," Dean whispered.

"Bobby," Sam said slowly, "how old is your nephew?"

"He just turned seventeen."

Dean's look was one of complete bafflement. Sam was more accepting, and thus more nervous about meeting Kurt.

"Look, boys," Bobby said, nervously wringing his hands, "I'm real glad to see you and I'm happy to put you up, but if you say or do anything that upsets Kurt, I'll have to kill you. I won't have that kid hurt anymore."

A very bad feeling began coursing through Sam and Dean.

"What happened to him?" Dean asked, his voice hard and serious.

Bobby chewed on his lip for a moment. "Kurt's from a very small town in Ohio, even smaller than Lawrence." He nodded when the brothers flinched. "He's openly gay and doesn't bother to try and hide it, not that he should, and he probably couldn't hide it anyway. People have had…issues with him."

Dean frowned deeply and Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Explain," Sam demanded, not liking where this was going but needing an answer all the same.

"The school harassment was one thing," Bobby said quietly, looking down at the porch. "You know what I mean: dumpster tosses, running him up the flagpole, name-calling. Stupid shit like that which assholes need to do to feel better about themselves." He paused. "But it got worse. A lot worse. Phone calls, both to Kurt and Burt. Bricks through windows. His truck was vandalized." He looked at Dean. "A Navigator."

Dean was absolutely appalled, and the look on his face said as much.

"And?" Sam prompted, sure there was more.

Bobby sighed. "Pee balloons were thrown at him. The house was spray-painted with homophobic slurs…"

"What the fuck century are we living in?" Dean barked harshly.

"It's not all bad," Bobby countered, though his voice was tinged with doubt. "As you heard, Kurt can sing. Really _sing_. He's part of his school's glee club. Last year they took their Invitationals and Sectionals, making it all the way to Regionals. He also joined the football team. He's the kicker, see, and they hadn't won a single game until he joined. They've been undefeated since. His teammates might not like him, and they resent his skill and refuse to shower or undress with him in the locker room, but a lot of the hate has been dialed down because they're afraid to lose him."

Dean's eyes shined with a fierce pride. "Awesome."

Bobby sucked in a breath. "Well, they weren't too thrilled with him when he went out for and was accepted as a cheerleader. After a few weeks, he was made captain and he took his squad to Nationals and won it for them."

Dean smirked. "A cheerleader? Wow, way to embrace the stereotype."

Bobby gave him a thunderous look.

"Wow, way to be a judgmental _asshole_," Sam shot back.

Dean blushed fiercely and was so horrified by his own behavior, his honest contrition was the only reason Bobby didn't deck him.

"Needless to say," he continued, glaring at Dean, "Kurt's now got a posse of very protective girls surrounding him. And I mean _very_ protective. Imagine sixty Mean Girls all swarming around one boy who treats them like absolute goddesses, and I'm sure you'll understand."

Dean shuddered. He'd known girls like that and, yeah, he'd fucked a lot of them, but he'd never turned his back on them. He knew how vicious they could be.

"Then there's the coach," Bobby added, "who, according to Burt, is psychotic, probably homicidal, and very possibly a demon. Kurt's her favorite."

Sam smiled. "So it's better now."

Bobby shook his head. "A couple of weeks ago, Kurt and some of his girls were leaving the mall in the next town over just before it closed. A gang of thugs from a rival football team attacked them and held the girls back. Then they beat Kurt and tried to gang-rape him."

"_Jesus_," Sam hissed, fisting his hair in his hands.

Dean swore loudly, turned on his heel, and punched the side of the house.

"Uncle Bobby!" screamed a panicked voice.

Bobby smacked Dean upside the head and opened the front door. "Sorry, kiddo. Tripped over the rocker."

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked, now concerned.

"I'm just fine, sport. Lunch almost ready?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Good boy."

"Love you!"

"I love you, too, kiddo."

Bobby again closed the door and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"We can leave," Sam immediately said.

Dean nodded, somewhat reluctantly. He actually wanted to meet this kid. Kurt sounded like a pretty remarkable dude.

Bobby shook his head. "You're always welcome here. Kurt knows about you, about what you do, and has a lot of respect for you."

Sam smiled and Dean swelled with pride.

"That said, I was serious about being on your best behavior. He's still pretty jumpy. Physically, he's okay; he heals pretty fast. Emotionally, well…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"What's being done about the rapist sons of bitches?" Dean seethed.

Bobby huffed. "Initially, nothing."

"_What?_" Sam hissed.

Bobby then smirked. "But then Justine Westgate, Kurt's partner, got involved. That's one woman you _never_ want to cross. She and Liza Capwell, the District Attorney, went to the State's Attorney and demanded something be done. They couldn't file charges themselves, since it occurred outside their jurisdiction, but they rallied the sympathetic cops to their cause. Then the cheerleaders got involved. Cheerleading is taken pretty seriously in Lima, since the team has won six national titles. Most of the girls on the squad have parents who are professionals, like lawyers and doctors, and who don't give a shit that Kurt likes boys. The guys who attacked them are either in jail or waiting to be sentenced."

"Fucking awesome!" Dean crowed.

Sam's brow furrowed. "Liza Capwell," he repeated. "I've heard of her." He blinked slowly and then opened his eyes until they were the size of banjos. "The White Diamond?"

Bobby nodded. "That's the one. Beautiful and brilliant, but hard and utterly intractable. She's never lost a case, is considered a shoe-in if she makes a senatorial run, and she adores Kurt." He frowned. "As well she should. He's closed her last three dozen cases."

"Damn," Sam whispered, shaking his head. "How long's he here?"

Bobby shrugged. "As long as wants, but probably at least another month."

"Just needed to get away, huh?" Dean asked sadly.

Bobby nodded. "Burt took it really hard. He loves his son more than anything, and Kurt worships his father, but they don't relate to each other very well. Burt has a tendency to see Kurt as a perpetual victim, which he's definitely not. He's cold, aloof, and can be utterly ruthless. He may have been _victimized_, but he's no one's victim."

Okay, Dean _definitely_ wanted to meet this kid.

"It was all I could do to get Burt to agree to send him. As it was, his girls wouldn't let him go. I had to drive to Lima so they could check me out."

Dean blinked. "Seriously?"

"Deadly. They had run background reports and credit checks. They interrogated me – and I _do _ mean interrogated, not questioned – for over three hours. They asked for references. They described in graphic detail what they would to do me where Kurt injured while in my care." He blew out a breath. "Not gonna lie, boys. Those bitches scared the shit out of me. I pissed myself."

Sam and Dean gaped at him.

He nodded, wincing. "The leader – well, she's the leader by default; Kurt's the real leader – is a girl named Santana Lopez. If she were a demon, so much could be explained, but she's not. She's just evil, and Kurt is her one of her few blind spots. She hates him for that as much as she loves him, but she will kill anyone or anything who hurts him. Weighs a hundred fucking pounds soaking wet, and she alone put four of those footballers in the hospital – and I mean in _traction_. I'm sure she's already plotting to have them eliminated while they're in prison. She has the money and connections to make it happen, and she sure as hell as will."

Sam and Dean continued to stare.

"Then there are the blonds, Quinn and Brittany. Quinn is almost as bad as Santana, but she looks like an angel and will slop sugar all over you while she sticks a knife into your gut. The subtler evil is always scarier than the blatant one. And Brittany, well, she's a sweetheart. They're all very protective of her, but she's no slouch, either. She plays the role of the dumb blond to the hilt, but she's just as scheming and treacherous. It's just that no one ever sees her coming."

Sam and Dean simultaneously shook their heads.

"Together, they're alternately called the Quadrumvirate or the Four Horsemen."

Dean turned to Sam. "Dude."

Sam nodded weakly. "I know." He shuddered. "_High school_."

Bobby grinned viciously. "Ready to meet him?"

* * *

><p>Sam and Dean entered the house and were appropriately shocked at its condition.<p>

There wasn't a speck of dust or dirt anywhere to be seen. The hardwood floors were polished to such a sheen that they could see themselves reflected in it.

Bobby chuckled nervously. "Kurt's very particular about his surroundings. As soon as he got here, he cleaned for a solid week."

The brothers peered into the living room and were stunned. There were several new mahogany bookshelves. Bobby's myriad books, once piled haphazardly on any available surface, were all sitting proud on their new holders.

"He organized them according to category," Bobby babbled. "Then he grouped them by language, and alphabetized them within their subsets. He also created an index."

Sam was silently geeking out, spinning around the room with his arms flung wide and beaming happily.

Dean was now utterly terrified of Kurt.

"He's really good with research," Bobby boasted. "He can speak Latin, as well as Spanish, French, and Italian, and he can read and write Greek and Sumerian."

Dean shook his head in wonder. "Who _is_ this kid?"

Sam began bouncing up and down. "I want to meet him!"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Hey, kiddo!" he called. "The Winchester boys are here. I'd like you to meet them."

They waited and were soon rewarded with light footsteps making their way towards them. Kurt hesitantly peered from behind the corner leading to kitchen, and then slowly crossed the room to Bobby's side.

Dean was awestruck and thought Kurt Hummel was the most adorable thing he had ever _seen_. He just wanted to fold Kurt up and put him in his pocket so he could _always_ be holding him.

To say the boy was beautiful would have been a gross understatement. Kurt was fairly tall, his limbs somewhat gangly, as if he had gone through a recent growth spurt. His eyes were enormous and a color to which Dean could put no name. They were a stunning blue-grey, reminding Dean of the stormy Atlantic, and appeared simultaneously to absorb and reflect light. The hollows of his cheeks bespoke a recent and unwarranted weight loss, probably due to what had been done to him. He was almost painfully thin but looked whipcord strong.

Kurt also had the longest legs Dean had ever seen a person other than Sam, and he couldn't stop _staring_. He just wanted to hold Kurt and protect him and kill things for him.

For his part, Kurt looked at Dean, whose charming smarm definitely reminded him of Puck in ten years, raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest, and scoffed, thoroughly unimpressed.

That just made Dean love him all the more, though he was seriously put out by yet another dude who could do the Eyebrow Thing.

Kurt rolled his eyes and turned to Sam, registering the other boy's height, greater even than that of Finn, and impressive build. He shrank in on himself and curled up against Bobby.

Sam rightly assumed that either his face or body reminded Kurt of one of his attackers and he visibly deflated, feeling ashamed for no good reason.

"Lunch is ready," Kurt quietly told his uncle.

Bobby wrapped an arm around Kurt's trembling shoulders. "Is there enough for all of us?"

Kurt nodded. "I made extra."

"You're a good boy," Bobby said softly.

Kurt appeared to gain strength from the praise, twirling on his heel and strutting out of the room, back into the kitchen. Bobby followed.

_That ass_. Dean drooled. He wasn't gay, but there _were_ exceptions. He'd thought Sam was the only one, but apparently not. Kurt Hummel was a major fucking exception.

Sam kicked him.

* * *

><p>"What's to eat?" Dean said brightly, smiling winningly at Kurt, who couldn't have cared less.<p>

"Grilled cheese and tomato soup," Kurt said in a bored voice.

"Sweet!" It was Dean's favorite childhood meal.

Kurt frowned. "Well, actually, it's tomato bisque with jasmine rice, and sliced Gruyere on toasted seven-grain bread."

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

Kurt glared at him, which just made Dean smile that much harder.

"It smells delicious," Sam said politely, sniffing discreetly and overwhelmed by the delectable odors drifting toward him.

"Thank you," Kurt said stiffly.

Sam hung his head.

Bobby cleared his throat and Kurt gave an exaggerated blink, appearing to snap out of his snit. He pasted a small smile on his face, though everyone could tell he didn't mean it. Still, all of them, particularly Sam, appreciated the effort.

Sam looked longingly at the refrigerator. "I don't suppose you have any sprouts?" he asked meekly.

Kurt brightened. "Yes! Please allow me to get you some."

Sam grinned happily.

Dean soured. "Sprouts?"

Kurt whirled around and gave him a hard look. "You get milk. You look like you have scoliosis."

Dean sputtered as Sam laughed uproariously.

* * *

><p>Bobby, Dean, and Sam stuffed themselves to the hilt on Kurt's delicious repast, asking for more helpings several times each. Kurt happily made more and served them graciously, appearing to love preparing large meals, though he barely ate anything himself. That only fed in to Dean's brand new fantasy that Kurt was the perfect housewife; he just had a dick.<p>

Dean could work with that.

Kurt opened up slightly and was witty and charming during lunch, seemingly very pleased to meet the Winchesters. At first the boys just thought it was lip service, but then Kurt recalled in minute detail several of their more notorious cases, as relayed to him by Bobby. Dean became more arrogant as his exploits were expounded upon, while Sam turned shy and self-deprecating.

Dean began to think it was purposeful and that his little brother was diabolical, as Kurt started focusing on Sam, almost to the exclusion of Dean himself as well as Bobby. Soon, Sam and Kurt were babbling away to each other in Latin. Several times they would look at Dean and begin giggling. Bobby tried and failed to stifle his snickers.

When Kurt learned that Sam had attended Stanford, he immediately began interrogating the man about tuition, courses, fields of study, and professors. Dean suddenly realized that he wouldn't be able to marry Kurt until the boy had finished college. He figured that, by then, he'd be ready to settle down.

Then he and Kurt would get an awesome house with a white picket fence, a really cool dog, and a cat they both hated but kept around anyway. Kurt would clean every day and make things gleam and prepare totally amazing meals. They would entertain the desperate housewives on weekends and then retire to their bedroom, where Dean could worship Kurt's stupendous ass in blissful quietude.

It was the most fucking lame fantasy Dean Winchester had ever had in his life, and he loved it.

* * *

><p>Kurt insisted on cleaning up, despite the halfhearted protests of the others, though Sam refused to abide, clearing and wiping down the table. Kurt rewarded him with a shy smile, which made Dean scowl. Kurt finally shooed all of them out of the kitchen so he could mop the floor. Dean swooned as he smelled the scent of Pine Sol as it hit the bucket of hot water Kurt had drawn.<p>

"Boys," Bobby said to the Winchesters, "let's catch up." His tight smile, which didn't meet his eyes, plainly indicated that he was not pleased with Dean's flirting or Sam's cow eyes. "Kurt, we'll be on the front porch."

Kurt waved over his shoulder. "Yes, Uncle Bobby. Dinner will be ready at six."

Bobby nodded. "And what will you be doing in the meantime?"

Kurt sighed. "I have to check in with everyone, and then I thought I'd do some yoga out in the barn."

"Alright, then. Let me know if you need something."

Kurt nodded and began softly singing something under his breath, making great swipes with the mop across the floor.

Dean was in heaven. Kurt was like Snow White, but _hot_.

Bobby grabbed both Dean and Sam and began hauling them toward the front of the house, boy boys whining that they wanted to stay and listen to Kurt sing.

Finally they emerged on the porch, Bobby shut the door behind them, and pushed them into chairs.

"Listen to me, you little fuckers…"

* * *

><p>Sam and Dean sat cowering on Bobby's front porch, terrified of the creative threats he had just unleashed upon them, ones far too detailed ever to be considered merely idle.<p>

Bobby sighed. "Look, boys. You know I love you like my own, right?"

Dean grunted and a bright-eyed Sam nodded.

"After the last time you two were here," Bobby continued, "it was pretty obvious to me that you two were…together."

Dean released a low sustained growl as Sam blushed furiously and began hyperventilating.

Bobby held up a hand. "No judgment. I meant what I said: I love you like my own. You're not hurting anyone with what you're doing, and I've never been one to hold against people what they do behind closed doors." He stared at them. "I assume you're still together?"

Dean glared and Sam reluctantly nodded.

Bobby nodded in kind. "Then that's just fine. You can share a room, if you want, and I know Kurt will say nothing about it. He's been abused enough in his life because of the fact he likes guys. He won't care." He stiffened and his stare became glacial. "That said, I'll kill you dead if you think for one moment of adding my nephew to your harem."

"That's his decision," Dean barked, not even bothering to deny their interest.

"He's seventeen fucking years old, Dean!" Bobby bit back. "He's never even been on a date before, let alone experienced anything more…personal. The last boy he had a crush on will, in a few months, be his new stepbrother."

Sam winced. "Damn."

"He's also trying to get over being sexually assaulted by a group of assholes half a foot taller than him and who outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. He's not ready for your bullshit."

"You don't know that," Dean challenged, incredibly pissed off that Bobby was in essence likening him and his brother to rapists and more than a little hurt that he was being denied someone he so desperately wanted.

"He's going to be a junior in _high school_, Dean!" Bobby thundered. "He's in the top ten of his class. He wants to go to college, and then probably some professional school. He's in Glee, on the football team, and captains a cheerleading squad who wins national titles more often than you change your shorts. He also has a nearly full-time job putting away the worst criminals in the state of Ohio." He raised a brow. "Do you _really_ think he has time for your shenanigans?"

Dean huffed and crossed his arms. "You make it sound like we'd use him and…and just…throw him away or something. We would never do that!" he insisted.

Sam nodded, his backbone finally asserting itself.

"I know him," Bobby hissed. "You don't. Kurt is not one for casual flings, and I sincerely doubt that he'd be interested in some triad relationship, especially where the other two involved are brothers. And I don't mean that he would be grossed out by that, but he _would_ feel left out or left behind. If he ever decided that he was interested, I would support him, but where do you honestly think it would go?"

Sam sighed and dropped his head in his hands. "Bobby's right, Dean."

"The fuck he is," Dean denied, scowling.

"Kurt has a _life_, Dean," Sam challenged. "He's almost ten years younger than me. He's just starting out. How can we mess that up for him?"

"We wouldn't!"

"He has a _home_," Sam stressed. "He has a father and friends who love him. We can't give him those things. Can you even imagine what would happen if we introduced him to John?"

Dean blanched.

As much as he didn't want to, Bobby felt he had to interject. "Kurt would handle John just fine, believe me."

The boys clearly didn't, and their looks spoke for themselves.

"We're on the road constantly," Sam continued, looking at his brother. "We don't even know where we're going next. That's no kind of life for someone like Kurt. He's not a hunter."

"He's psychic!" Dean shouted.

"That means he's supernatural," Sam replied, "not that his visions are supernatural. He's putting away human criminals, Dean, not demonic ones. Would you want to put him in that kind of danger? We're not cops. We're not District Attorneys."

"We could protect him," Dean stubbornly insisted.

"He shouldn't need protection," Sam said. "He should be able to enjoy his life. We can't give him the things he needs, Dean. Bobby's right. We don't even _know_ Kurt. We're just reacting to our dicks."

Dean's fight was slowly leaving him. "I think I love him."

Bobby scoffed, but Sam held up a warning hand.

"I know how you are, Dean. When you fall, it's hard and fast and true. But Kurt's a _kid_."

Dean shot him a look filled with disbelief. "He's not. He's never been allowed to be a kid."

Even Bobby had no rejoinder for that one.

Sam sighed. "Look, Dean, I understand how you feel, I really do, but do you honestly think you could treat Kurt the way he needs?"

"What the hell does that mean!" Dean exploded, hopping to his feet.

"Look at how you treat me," Sam said evenly. "You worry about me far more than you do yourself. Yeah, I'm your brother, but I'm also your lover, and there's very little equality in our relationship. You determine our cases. You determine where we go. You don't even ask for my opinions. When I do or say something you don't like, you shut me out completely."

Dean opened his mouth.

"I know you," Sam continued, "and I love and accept you for who you are. But I can guarantee you that someone like Kurt, someone's who been through so damn much in such a short life, would never allow himself to be coddled the way you coddle me. He just wouldn't put up with it. And he wouldn't sit around waiting for you to finish your hissy fits. He would leave, Dean, and there's no brother bond with him to get him to stay."

Dean visibly deflated and released a slow breath. "You're not happy," he said in a small voice. "Not with me."

"Bullshit," Sam spat. "If I wasn't, I _would_ leave, Dean. But like I said, I know you. I know what makes you tick and I how to manipulate you when it's necessary; I know what your words and your silences mean. I know all of your secrets and your pain. It's exactly like how you know me. Kurt doesn't know these things and he won't understand them." He sighed. "You said yourself that Kurt's never been allowed to be a kid, and you're right, but you would still treat him as one. We both know it."

Dean pulled his legs up to his chest and stubbornly looked away. Bobby was impressed with the way Sam had managed to corral his brother.

"I want him, too, Dean," Sam whispered. "I want to hold him and take care of him and make everything all right for him, but I can't, and neither can you. He needs to do that for himself, and it sounds like he's been doing a pretty good job of it."

Bobby nodded.

"Fine," Dean said shortly after several long, agonizing moments, "but if he comes to me, if he makes a move, if he says he can handle it, I'm not turning him away." He glared up at Bobby.

Bobby shrugged. "If he's the one doing the pushing, I know he won't let you say no. He's known his own mind since he was two years old, and nothing I say will sway him. So even though I won't like it, I'll deal with it. If you hurt him, I'll kill you. And as far as my brother and Kurt's friends are concerned, you're on your own. Believe me when I tell you that you have no idea what will happen, and even Kurt wouldn't be able to guarantee your survival."

Dean nodded. "Noted." He turned to look at Sam.

"If he wants," Sam said softly. "But he has to come to us, Dean. You won't push him. You won't flirt with him. There will be no touching or suggesting or anything else like that. It _must_ be his decision, one he reaches on his own and with no prompting from either of us."

Bobby sighed and nodded. "I won't interfere, and if something happens, I won't stand in your way. But like I said before, if you hurt him, I _will_ kill you."

They believed him.


	2. Third Wheel

The first week had been awkward for all parties involved.

Duly subdued by Bobby's unsubtle warning, Sam and Dean really had no idea how to comport themselves around Kurt, who appeared happiest when he was left alone.

If there had ever been a doubt, Dean decided during that week that he really fucking hated rapists. Kurt might not have been raped physically, but his soul was an altogether different matter. The way he jumped at noises, whether big or small; the way his eyes would sometimes stare sightlessly at nothing, their bearer obviously caught in the midst of a flashback; his obsessive cleaning and showering; his need to surround himself with order - it hurt Dean to see it.

Sam was equally as affected, but tried his hardest not to show it, struggling in a bid of normalcy to appease Kurt, who knew that Bobby had told Sam and Dean.

Sam had known girls who had been raped. Everyone on a college campus knew someone who had been raped. The schools never advertised it, of course, instead proudly touting their zero percentages for sexual assaults, but those statistics only ever accounted for reported attacks. And so many went unreported.

It made Sam wonder about guys, if he had known any who had been brutalized. He'd heard things about frat houses and hazing, but most people laughed it off as crazy rumors, because no one really wanted to consider the implications if the rumors were true. He'd done some internet research about male victims of sexual assault, but the information had been spotty, no doubt because the crime was so severely underreported.

As Dean struggled to contain his anger whenever his thoughts got the best of him, Sam slipped deeper and deeper into depression, reliving Stanford, and Jess, and the fire. Dean didn't know how to help his brother with that; Jess had always been a touchy subject between them. Dean knew full well that, had Jess lived, Sam would've been married to her by now, probably with a couple of rugruts with some seriously crazy yet awesome hair.

Kurt was a constant reminder of the people they hadn't been able to save, yet he had saved so many. They had checked him out as discreetly as possible, though not much information had been gleaned. The Dayton PD and the Office of the District Attorney systems had some pretty awesome firewalls, some of which were in place solely to protect Kurt's identity. The most they had been able to unearth were crime scene reports and interrogation transcripts which had listed his presence. Nothing was known about what function he performed, but they were sure it was no coincidence that his name appeared only in files of closed cases. There were a lot of them.

The kid was good. Damn good. Definitely way too good for his age.

This only inspired more questions.

How long had he been psychic? What was it that he saw? How did he experience his dreams or visions or whatever?

Sam was relentlessly curious as to whether his powers and Kurt's shared any commonalities, so desperate was he to get a handle on what he could do; or, more specifically, why he could do it.

Had Kurt been born with his gift? Neither Sam nor Dean wanted to consider it a gift, as such, their knowledge limited only to Sam's experiences. There was, however, no denying that Kurt apparently used his powers for Good, and he appeared to have enough control over them to help others in a really major way.

Sam might have been a little jealous about that, but didn't mention it. Dean knew anyway.

Sam spent his days on the computer or going through all of Bobby's books, making notes and desperately transcribing them with his word processing software. After three days of nonstop frenzy, Kurt had had enough, left the house, and returned an hour later with a top-of-the-line scanner.

Kurt then proceeded to show Sam how to use it, told him in explicit detail that he was to return all the books to their proper places, and then went and made him lunch, because he was concerned that Sam was getting too thin.

When Dean had remarked that he could go for some lunch himself, Kurt promptly told him that he was sure Dean could live off the fat in his head for at least a month.

With every insult, Dean's infatuation with Kurt grew, much to Sam's amusement. Both of them were of the opinion that Kurt knew exactly what he was doing, and neither one were about to dissuade him.

* * *

><p>Kurt would often sit on the front porch and watch Dean work on the Impala. Initially, Dean had believed that Kurt was more interested in watching him get sweaty and dirty in a tank top. He had decided that such instances afforded him the perfect opportunity to show off his awesome shoulders and gearhead tendencies.<p>

Kurt had allowed it for a few days before calmly pointing out everything Dean was doing wrong. When Dean learned that Kurt was a fully-certified mechanic, he announced he had to go to the bathroom and then proceeded to masturbate furiously.

No matter how much Dean whined, Kurt wouldn't work on the car for him, but did take the time to explain exactly what Dean needed to do to get the Impala running at peak efficiency. He was also able to secure parts at cost, which had Dean literally on his knees in worship. He knocked that off when he realized that position was scaring Kurt a little.

But Kurt mostly kept to himself. When he wasn't cleaning, he was practicing extreme yoga in the barn. Sam had tried to join him a few times, since he knew the basic poses, but he hadn't been able to keep up with Kurt, nor was he as flexible. Kurt's balance and grace were beautiful for Sam to behold, but they also made him feel old. They made Dean horny.

In between housework, exercise, and worrying over Bobby's cholesterol, Kurt read, played the piano, or Skyped with his friends. He hadn't sung since that first day, which rather annoyed Sam and Dean. Bobby had taken them aside after one too many requests and quietly explained that a lot of people, particularly guys, gave Kurt a hard time about his voice and how high it was. It didn't make any sense to them. Neither one of them could carry a tune in a basket; if they had Kurt's gift, they would've lived life through song.

The only other opportunities they had to speak with Kurt were at the dinner table. For some reason, it was very important to Kurt that they all sat down together to share a meal. Neither Dean nor Sam would argue about that, given how well Kurt cooked. Dean couldn't even bring himself to complain about the healthy fare Kurt insisted on preparing, not when the boy could make food taste that good.

Kurt had yet to comment on the fact that Sam and Dean were together, though they were sure he knew. They wondered what he thought about it, if he thought about them at all in that way. They were rather depressed that he might not.

All of them were on their best behavior, Kurt included, as if presenting a united front of normalcy was somehow paramount, though they couldn't explain why.

Initially, Bobby had been pleased that Dean and Sam had abided his ground rules so religiously, but the tension in the house was reaching a fevered pitch, so rife that it could be filleted. That is, when it didn't resemble some amorphous torpor which infected all of them, dragging out the days.

* * *

><p>One night, midway through their second week together, and as Kurt began clearing the table, Bobby could no longer stand it. He felt like a guest in his own home.<p>

"So, boys, who would like a beer?" he asked.

Sam and Dean responded affirmatively in very grateful tones.

"Kurt?"

Kurt, standing at the sink, turned and regarded his uncle with confusion. "I'm underage."

"I won't tell if you don't," Bobby replied, shrugging.

"Thank you, but no," Kurt said. "I had a bad experience with alcohol, and don't care to repeat it."

"We could teach you how to drink," Dean pressed, very curious as to how a drunk Kurt might behave.

"No, thank you," Kurt repeated. "The lure of alcohol, for me, can be dangerous." At their confused looks, he continued. "It drowns out the voices and can stop the visions." He paused. "There are times when I'd very much like to indulge, but I fear that I would not be able to pull myself back from the brink." He wiped his hands on a dishtowel. "I only know a handful of psychics, none of which are as strong as I am. Most of them are hopeless alcoholics."

Sam warily eyed the beer Bobby had placed in front of him before slowly pushing it away.

"I'm not insinuating it would affect you in the same manner, Sam," Kurt said quietly. "From what I've been able to gather, your powers are drastically different than my own. In the past two weeks, I haven't seen you drink to the point of intoxication, so if you want that beer, you should feel free to partake."

Sam hesitated, but finally dragged the bottle back towards him, though he did not drink from it. "Can you talk about it?"

Kurt blinked, then nodded. "Of course. I was wondering when you would ask me. It's no great secret, at least not among family."

"You consider us family?" asked a stunned Dean.

"I wouldn't necessarily say that," Kurt said slowly, "but I know Uncle Bobby considers you such, and he is my family." He shrugged. "Regardless, I know I can trust you about this. Ask your questions."

"How do you do it?" Sam asked. "How do you see what you see? How long have you had it?"

Kurt retrieved for himself a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sat down at the table. "I notice you didn't call it a gift." He unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. "Most people do. Most people, once they know, consider it to be exactly that, and, I suppose, in some instances it's even true." He cocked his head. "But we know better."

Sam nodded.

Kurt shrugged once more. "To answer your questions, and in no particular order, I've always been able to see...spirits, for lack of a better term. My mother could, as well, but her abilities were much more benign. In general, she communed with ghosts who had what is popularly called unfinished business, meaning they had a final message to pass on to a loved one, and my mother would facilitate that."

He swallowed and looked down at the table. "She knew that I could hear and see ghosts, that I had visions while I slept, but, for the most part, they were inconsequential. Given that I was so young at the time, the ghosts involved preferred speaking with her. Occasionally, I would come across the ghost of a child, who would whisper to me their secrets, which I would reiterate to my mother, who then took care of it."

Dean was riveted. Sam looked uneasy.

"That all changed when she died," Kurt whispered. "Hers wasn't a violent death, but I was extremely close to her." He stared at Dean. "You understand."

Dean nodded hesitantly. Bobby and Sam exchanged curious glances.

Kurt looked at a point on the wall behind Bobby, who was sitting opposite him. "Think back to when you were a child, when all you knew was your mother and your father, and _all_ of your faith revolved them." He paused. "Now kill one of them."

Dean flinched harshly, his eyes filling with tears against his will. Sam's hands curled into fists under the table. Bobby looked sadder than perhaps should have been possible.

"As I said," Kurt continued, "her death wasn't violent, but the manner in which she died, so painfully and so drawn-out, was, and it affected me on a fundamental level. After her death, everything I saw, everything I heard, everything I dreamt, was violent."

"Jesus," Dean muttered, raking a hand through his short locks.

Kurt cleared his throat and appeared lost in how to continue. "Everywhere I go, I see them," he finally said. "I see them lost, alone, their faces twisted in agony. I hear them crying out for justice and vengeance." He shook his head slightly. "I can't ignore them. They all know me, you see, they know the medium. They search me out. My name is infamous in the ghostly realms. There is little respite."

"Is there anything that helps, buddy?" Bobby quietly asked.

Kurt nodded. "As I explained, there are those who drown themselves in liquor or lose touch with reality thanks to drugs, but those are only temporary measures. They will be able to block out the sights and sounds only while under the influence, and the danger comes when they have to consume more to extend the brief periods of silence. As they consume, so their addictions consume them."

Dean looked at Sam in concern.

"Music helps," Kurt added. "You can lose yourself for brief periods, but the lag time eventually decreases. In a very real way, you are at their mercy. You have to do what they want, or they will never leave you alone. You become that which they haunt.

"That's why I took the position with Liza, because I was able to affect real outcomes, bring justice to those who deserve it."

"Does anyone else know what you can do?" Sam whispered.

"Outside of the four of you, the only people who know are Liza Capwell, the District Attorney; Justine Westgate, my police partner; Emma Pillsbury, my school's guidance counselor; Santana Lopez, my best friend; and my father. They each help in their own essential ways."

He looked away. "I'd like to talk about something else, please."

The three chagrined men nodded.

"Any particular topic in mind?" Dean asked brightly.

Kurt frowned and considered the question. "Well, you and Sam could explain why you have yet to tell me that you two are together. Or we could discuss your rather obvious interest in me. Which would you prefer?"


	3. Third Strike

Kurt waited patiently as Sam and Dean stared at him, trying to form a response.

Bobby just pointed at them and laughed.

"You know we're together?" Sam asked slowly, obviously attempting to prevaricate for as long as possible.

Kurt frowned. "Was it a secret? If so, you two really need to up your game. I'm fairly certain aliens from the planet Zippotron know you're together. You make cow eyes at Dean _all _the time and every time you walk away from him, he leers at your ass and adjusts his package."

Dean and Sam continued to stare.

Flames. Flames on the sides of their faces...

"Does it bother you?" Dean asked.

"No," Kurt answered simply, shrugging. "I can't say that I understand your relationship, but I accept it. All that matters is that you love each other, which you obviously do. Anything else is your business."

"But we're brothers," Sam insisted, trying to provoke from Kurt a more passionate response.

Kurt nodded. "You're brothers. You're committing incest. I know these things. What is it you would like for me to say?"

"Aren't you grossed out?" Dean demanded.

"No. I would be disturbed if one of you were female and you weren't practicing safe sex, but you're both men. It's not as though you're going to knock each other up."

He paused. "My entire life I have been judged because of the fact that I'm gay. I never chose it, but neither am I ashamed of it. Two of my best friends are girls who are dating each other; Santana is a lesbian and Brittany is ... well ... _Brittany_. The boy who is soon to become my stepbrother is a homophobic straight guy who nevertheless insists on holding me as much as possible whenever we meet in the hall."

Dean's eyes darkened with jealousy.

"I know what desire is. I know what love is. You love each other. That's obvious to anyone who sees you together. I can't possibly imagine why that should ever be considered abnormal." He shrugged. "I'm also an atheist, so I don't care what some book written in a desert six thousand years ago has to say about modern life."

"You don't believe in God?" asked a surprised Sam.

"I don't believe in the popular Judeo-Christian conception of what god is. I do believe in the supernatural. I know for a fact that there is existence beyond death, though I don't believe that it's necessarily a reward or governed by an all-loving deity."

Sam nodded slowly. He could understand Kurt's point of view.

"I believe in balance," Kurt continued. "I believe that for every force, there is an equal opposing force. I believe that whatever energy you put out will come back to you. I believe that it's _possible_ gods exist, by which I mean I believe in forces with incredible wells of power at their disposal, though I don't believe they have any particular love or even fondness for humanity."

Dean was depressed at how much sense Kurt was making. He would never describe himself as religious, but always in the back of his mind had lingered a slight belief that someone was watching and keeping score, that there was a point to all the bullshit people had to endure day after day. The idea that there might not be, that the universe was so chaotic and uninterested, that bad things happened to good people for no goddamn reason at all, didn't sit well with him.

"I'm not advocating atheism," Kurt added, as though reading their minds. "I don't even believe in atheism as an organized counterpoint to faith. I think you either have faith or you don't. If you don't, nothing and no one will ever convince you otherwise. If you do have faith, it's your responsibility to nurture it."

He was silent for a long moment. "There are moments I wish I had faith," he finally said, "but I never have. I was never molested by a priest. I didn't turn away from god when my mother died. I don't believe that my attack was resultant to my lack of faith. I just never believed. My friend Quinn is very devout, but she's devout to her belief of what god is to her, not some vengeful father figure who's going to come down and spank you for masturbating too much."

He sighed. "There are times I wish I could experience that kind of devotion. I imagine it's very peaceful and comforting. I know there are loving churches who foster amazing communities of fellowship and sometimes I wish I could be a part of that, but I can't.

"The bottom line is that your relationship isn't harming anyone. I can feel your love for one another and it's beautiful to see." He smiled and shyly ducked his head. "It gives me hope that I might have that for myself one day."

Bobby reached over and patted his nephew's hand.

"You could have that with us," Dean said, ignoring Sam and Bobby's squawks of protest.

Kurt cocked his head and stared at Dean for what felt like hours.

"I'm flattered by your interest," he said frankly. "When I was..." he trailed off, the light in his eyes dimming.

Dean swore under his breath while Sam silently cursed that pack of assholes who had done this to Kurt.

"I knew they had no interest in me. They didn't see me as a person, let alone as a sexual being. It was about power and control with sex as the weapon. It was about killing my spirit more than it was battering my body."

Bobby began trembling with barely-suppressed rage.

"I've never been wanted before," Kurt said in a small voice, "and while I have no problem admitting that you are both gorgeous - and you truly are; you are absolutely beautiful - I am in no way ready even to consider any kind of romantic relationship, let alone one with two men who are brothers and much older and more experienced than I am."

As far as Bobby was concerned, this issue was settled. Kurt wasn't ready and that was the end of it.

Sam was struggling for what to say and kicked Dean's ankle when his brother opened his mouth to speak. He was then stunned by Dean's words.

"We would never pressure you," Dean said gently. "We would never take advantage of you or demand things from you. We understand that you're not ready for a sexual relationship and, as much as we want you, we're not ready for one either. We know you have a lot to work through, Kurt, and we just want to help you. We want to be there for you. Yeah, we'd like more. Eventually. But not right now and not until you're ready. We just..."

"We want to be with you," Sam whispered.

"Why?" Kurt asked. "I'm not a wounded bird. I'm not a fallen hero. I'm not a victim."

"We know that," Dean said, "and we respect how strong you are."

Kurt grunted and looked away. "You don't know me. You don't know what I'm like. I'm a good person, but I'm not a particularly nice one. I'm cold and aloof. I'm arrogant and self-centered. I'm intellectually superior to many people and use it to my advantage. I have no qualms about manipulating people to suit my own ends. I'm cruel with my words and I enjoy it.

"I don't enjoy physical affection. I don't like being touched; I was that way long before the attack and I don't see it changing any time soon. I've never been particularly interested in sex. I have no interest in hunting. I cannot and will not live out of a car. I have plans for my life."

Finally, he shrugged and looked back to them. "It's obvious to me how deeply you're in love with each other. There's no room for me. I have nothing to offer you."

Sam was appalled. "Why do you think we're only interested in you for sex?"

Kurt stared in confusion. "Why else would you be?"

Bobby mumbled under his breath and stood up to get a beer.

Milk, rather. He'd wait for the beer until after Kurt went to bed. He just wasn't up for another well-intentioned lecture.

"It's been made clear to me that I'm not useful for more than that," Kurt continued. "No boy has ever actually _liked_ me. The only interest I've ever garnered is from closeted teachers and jocks who want a side piece who gives blowjobs when their girlfriends have headaches."

"Listing what you think are your faults isn't going to scare us off, Kurt," Dean said quietly as he clenched his fists under the table. He was going to find those assholes who had harassed Kurt and punish them.

Kurt's frown deepened. "I can't do anything for you. I don't even understand why this is an issue." He sighed. "Look, it's sweet that you want protect me. You look at me and see Bobby's abused nephew and want to make things better for me. That's lovely and I appreciate your concern, but I don't need your pity. I may look delicate but I'm a strong person. I'm proud of that strength. I'll get through what those guys did to me. I've been rescuing myself for a long time now. I don't need help."

Dean couldn't believe this shit. Did Kurt really not know how hot he was? Hadn't he ever looked in a mirror? Kurt was cute _and_ sexy. His body was awesome and was only going to get better in the next few years. His utterly perfect ass should be declared a national treasure.

And Kurt was _smart_. Not just with the books, but with life. He understood people and their motivations. He saw through bullshit with ease. He knew his own mind and made swift choices and judgments. He didn't apologize for his thoughts and feelings. He didn't care what you thought of them or of him.

He was funny. He was acerbic, sarcastic, and extremely quick-witted. He was also kind and gentle and loving.

And that voice. That absolutely gorgeous voice.

Kurt offered an unconvincing yawn and stood up, stretching his arms. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to retire for the evening. There's a book I want to finish and I need to check in with Santana before she decides to storm the gates."

Bobby shuddered at the mention of that she-demon's name.

Kurt nodded at Dean and gave Sam a soft smile. "Thank you for thinking of me. If this were a different time, if certain things hadn't..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Regardless, I want you both to know that I've enjoyed spending time with you. You're wonderful people and you've given me hope that maybe one day, I can find the kind of love you two share."

He leaned down and kissed Bobby's cheek. "Good night."

"Good night, buddy," Bobby whispered.

As soon as Kurt disappeared, Bobby stood, grabbed a beer, and hurried out the back door, sniffling once and clearing his throat. "See you tomorrow, boys," he said gruffly.

Sam shook his head. "What just happened?"

Dean sighed. "A lot more than what those footballers tried to do to him at the mall. He's been made to feel that he's ugly and unwanted. He doesn't understand how we could possibly have feelings for him, _real_ feelings that don't just revolve around sex."

Sam looked down at the table. "It's not just about protecting him, right? Because it's not only that. Not for me. I love him, Dean, and not just as Bobby's nephew."

Dean forcefully quieted the voice in the back of his head which insisted that Kurt was a better choice for Sam, that Dean should bow out and let them find happiness with each other. Because he couldn't help but feel that it was him to whom Kurt objected. He'd probably flirted too much, made Kurt too uncomfortable, reminded him of those who just wanted to use him.

Sam was Kurt's intellectual equal. They got each other on levels Dean would never understand. It had been pretty obvious these past weeks that Kurt gravitated toward Sam much more than he did Dean. Kurt was defensive and sarcastic with Dean; with Sam, Kurt was quiet and gave gentle smiles.

He snapped out of his thoughts when Sam rested his hand on his shoulder. "What do we do? I don't want this to be the end. We haven't even had a chance to begin with him."

Dean sighed. "Sammy, you're better for him than I am."

Sam flinched. "Shut up."

"It's true and you know it."

"I don't. My feelings for Kurt aside, I love you, Dean. I want to be with you until the day I die and for whatever comes after that. I love Kurt, yeah, and I'd like to be a part of his life - I know that you do, too - but I can live without him. I don't necessarily _want_ to, but I can. I can't live without you."

Dean ran his tongue over his lower lip, stood up, and grabbed Sam, throwing him against the wall. He raced toward his brother and pinned him to where he stood before burying his face in Sam's neck.

Sam's head fell back and he groaned with desire as his eyes closed. "Dean," he murmured.

"I want you so fucking much, Sammy. I want you all the time."

Sam bit his lip, his even white teeth gleaming underneath the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. "Then take me."

Dean pulled back, chest heaving, breath coming in short spurts. "Don't start something you won't finish, Sam," he growled.

Sam smirked, reached out, and ripped Dean's shirt open before reaching for his brother belt. "It's my turn. I'm already prepared."

Dean's eyes darkened with lust. "What do you want me to do, Sammy? What do you need?"

Sam's eyes darkened in tandem. "I want you to fuck me against this wall. I want it to vibrate with every thrust. I want you to fuck me until I lose all coherency and am unable to do anything but babble your name. That's what I want. _That's_ what I need."

Dean grunted, spun Sam around and yanked down his jeans, before quickly pushing himself inside. They both groaned at the sudden invasion, Sam hissing his pleasure as Dean established a frenetic rhythm before reaching around to fist Sam's cock in time with his thrusts.

"Oh, _fuck_," Sam moaned. "Do it quick, Dean, before Bobby comes back. Do it fast and hard. Make me feel every inch."

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean muttered. "I fucking love it when you curse."

Sam smirked and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, yeah? Then how's this? As soon as you shoot your hot load in my tight ass, I'm going to take you upstairs and blow you until your lose consciousness. Then I'll wake you up by fucking you into oblivion."

Dean groaned and increased his speed. "Promises, promises." He shuddered. "Christ, Sam, you're so fucking tight. How are you always so tight? You feel so good." He reached forward with his other hand, grabbing Sam's own and intertwining their fingers. He rested his forehead on Sam's shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Sam replied with no hesitation. "I'm so close, Dean, so fucking close. Faster. Please?"

Dean moaned at how fucking _wreaked_ Sam sounded. "Almost there. I'm almost there, baby, and then you can return the favor," he panted into Sam's ear.

"Don't lower your voice on my account," Sam whispered. "I want Kurt to hear us."

"W-What?"

"Don't let on, but he's watching us."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. He's scared, but he's interested. So let's show him that sex can be animalistic and still loving. Let's give him something to think about."

Dean abruptly withdrew, turned Sam around, and pressed him closer against the wall. Sam kicked off his jeans and wrapped his legs around Dean's waist.

"I need you back inside me," Sam begged.

Dean immediately complied and they both groaned with pleasure. He placed his forehead against Sam's own. "I love you, Sam. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," Sam said. He leaned down and captured Dean's mouth with his own.

Kissing Dean was one of his most favorite things, even more than the sex. Dean's mouth was so amazing and while Sam was always happy to keep it occupied, the kissing ... that's when Dean's feelings came through loud and clear. Their sex was usually hurried and ungentle; their need to be satiated was always so desperate. They liked it quick and dirty more than they did slow and loving, though they enjoyed that, as well.

But the kissing ...

Dean could really _kiss_, and when he did, he poured his heart and soul into it. Sam could come just from Dean's kisses alone.

Now all they needed to do was engineer an opportunity for Dean to kiss Kurt. Sam was pretty sure that, after that, Kurt would take care of the rest.

* * *

><p>Kurt stood just outside the kitchen door in a sliver of shadow, jaws agape.<p>

He had backtracked to grab a bottle of water, but the moment Uncle Bobby had stepped outside, Sam and Dean were just all over each other.

He leaned his head against the jamb. They were beautiful. They were _so_ beautiful, and even more so together. They loved each other so much it was obvious just from a glance, but to see them like this...

Kurt tried to ignore the stirring in his pants. He knew it was wrong to be watching them like this. No matter what they might have felt for him, he hadn't been invited to witness their intimacy.

But Dean's panting and Sam's whimpers and the frantic coupling and the languid kissing ...

He wanted that for himself one day. He wanted it _so_ badly.

And no matter what he had said, no matter how he had tried to convince himself otherwise, he wanted it with Sam and Dean.


End file.
